


Fireworks

by Simply8Steps



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: (again), Character Study, F/M, Gen, Happiness is Sometimes what we make of it?, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Parallels, canon-typical angst, character introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-31
Updated: 2017-05-31
Packaged: 2018-11-07 10:07:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11056731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Simply8Steps/pseuds/Simply8Steps
Summary: Shining clearly through a haze... Times and moments come and go, and things are enjoyed.





	Fireworks

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted for MLH (Make Laura Happy) 8 on LJ on 04/19/2010. 
> 
> This was a bit of a rushed job according to my original journal entry, so all mistakes are mine as always. I don't really own anything. The prompt had been to make Laura "happy" (again, my conception of this is a bit... odd) with a holiday.

Laura had a perfect view out of the small port window on the Colonial heavy. It was late afternoon, and already, she could see the initial tinges of twilight falling over calm waters as the first of two stars dipped closer to the horizon. Helos - visible as the cloud cover shredded like so many pieces of fabric and industry in Caprica City began to quiet – followed closely on the tail of its smaller brother.  
  
‘They will set the fireworks soon…’  
  
It was Armistice Day, and tonight, the people would celebrate the hard-earned peace that so many had fought for those decades ago. Strange how these things worked. Half a century ago, the Cylons that humans had created brought on a war that solidified the shaky unification among twelve formerly warring colonies. War begetting peace begetting war.  
  
Today’s peace did not touch her. She was already fighting her own personal wars, having long given up the tranquility of the still fountains for the current in her mind. The flash-flood of memories remained dammed for now, but only for so long. She wondered how these people’s peace would work out. The families that would doubtlessly be enjoying the grill and picnics in the parks as the celebrations began at true nightfall.  
  
Later, she would regret thinking any of this at all – tempting the Fates to start the cycle again.  
  


* * *

  
Tremors travelled slowly through the deck, crawling in her heels, inching up her spine, and arcing through her fingers until her entire being felt awake with a jolt of electricity. She wonders if these are the culmination of the trembling of every individual aboard Colonial One – of fear, of excitement even.  
  
It wasn’t hard to imagine what sensations they were experiencing – there is no sound in vacuum, but the lights of explosions and artillery fire in battle, the perceived spirit of war outside penetrated even this civilian ship’s thick plating. Rather, Laura wonders how diverse their thoughts are at this very moment when the last of humanity is stuck together like so many sheep in a flock.  
  
A flock. A fleet.  
  
She knows what she is thinking. She thinks of laughter and screams. Of lives expiring in bursts of lights brighter and more dangerous than any firework ever sent into the atmosphere. (Of last breaths expired with the quiet whispers of loved ones and warmth and comfort.) She thinks of the joyous momentum of being part of the speeding rocket that zooms toward its wonted height – to expire through life like a mayfly – a single moment, a single full breath before the purest moment of life – death. And in that moment, one is beautiful. Breath-taking.  
  


* * *

  
When she wished for a holiday while dealing with surviving and that frakwit Baltar, this wasn’t exactly what she had in mind. However, she couldn’t complain. It was actually warm today, the alcohol was plentiful (if not particularly good), and the people were positively giddy. Founder’s Day had brought an enthusiasm that she hadn’t seen on New Caprica since the people first moved on land, the initial optimism quickly overwhelmed by the bleak reality.  
  
That, and the weed did wonders for morale. Everything was that much funnier, brighter, and happier (she ignored the fuzziness) when one was buzzed. What had the young ones said? Take a trip on the high road and come back mellow? (Their code didn’t fool her, and she considered it her duty to confiscate the ones being passed around her classroom. If duty offered its own moments of pleasure later, well… that was a bonus.) Certainly, the Admiral seemed to enjoy its merits as well – old man or not.  
  
Later that night, after dancing and falling and dancing and falling, they stumble off to a row a tents that (she’s pretty sure) is near her own. They are on sandbags and talking (and maybe singing) but mostly, they are dreaming. They dream of their hopes for the future (because dreaming for the future isn’t always enough), and maybe in the quiet moments when there is silence, those dreams that they don’t share (out loud) ties them together that much more closely.  
  
And if, the moment before their lips meet (just once softly and certain), her eyes close (because this is most certainly not a dream but reality is a bit hazy with her eyes open) then it is not romantically clichéd to say (since the boundaries between Old Caprica and New Caprica, home and ship, person and person have become so hazy, she may very well still be on the former celebrating Armistice Day on her porch with her eyes to the sky) that she loves the fireworks that lit up on contact.  
  
It was/is/will be an amazing show.  
  
Her smile is free, her breath… gone.


End file.
